We barely slept two hours that night. We sat around the table, fruitlessly trying to make sense of the situation. The most absurd suggestion came from Mrs. Churnley: “Maybe it was someone’s homemade Halloween prop that they’d left curing in the river, so they just came in to take it back.”

To be fair to her, the suggestion was made at about seven in the morning, by which time we were all complete zombies. And it wasn’t like we’d come up with any better alternatives—or really any alternatives at all. We went around in circles until I couldn’t take it anymore and slumped my head down on the table.

After a bit of sleep, we all felt more human. We showered, and I was expecting the Churnleys to want to get in touch with the police as soon as possible, but Mr. Churnley decided to head out and talk to their closest neighbor, Mr. Doherty, instead.

“It’s not like the man took anything that was ours, anyway,” Mrs. Churnley said as she bustled around the kitchen cooking us all a late breakfast. “He clearly didn’t mean any harm. Just took what was… apparently his, and left.”

Angie, Lauren, and I argued against it, saying that there was no harm in calling the police—since we’d had a break-in after all, and they might be able to get to the bottom of the mystery—but it seemed that the morning had brought newfound confidence to the old lady, and she wasn’t having any of it.

“We’ve lived here for decades without needing help from the police, and we don’t need it now—whoever it was won’t come back. Just don’t go picking up any foreign objects and bringing them home!”

I knew it was futile to argue. Even if her stubbornness sprung from nothing but prejudice against relying on “the system,”, this was her home, so the decision was entirely hers to make.

She offered to have Mr. Churnley drive us in the truck to the nearest town so we could talk to our parents about what had happened, if we wanted, but ultimately we decided not to. I didn’t want to worry Jean and Roger, and Angie and Lauren felt the same about their folks. What was the point? Mrs. Churnley was right, in the sense that the intruder was highly unlikely to come back. It was clear he’d visited for one thing and one thing only; otherwise, if he was a petty thief, why go for such a weird, heavy object, out of all the other knickknacks in the kitchen he could have swiped?

As we ate breakfast, my mind wandered back to that journey home through the woods… that sensation I’d felt of eyes watching me. I shuddered. Had there been someone watching us? Who?

Mr. Churnley strolled into the house just as we were finishing our meal, clad in blue dungarees, sweat staining the pits of his shirt. He dabbed a napkin to his forehead and sat down in a chair with a creak, while his wife hurried to prepare a plate of food for him.

“I’m not ready to eat yet, Nora,” he said, helping himself to a glass of water. “Just a few minutes and I’m off again.”

Mrs. Churnley swiveled around from the kitchen counter to look at him. “Hm? What do you mean? How did it go with Brendon?”

Mr. Churnley laughed dryly. “He’s no police sergeant. Was as clueless as us. But he did serve me a grand portion of his wife’s hash browns…which is one reason I’m not ready for your lovely cooking just yet.” He gave us three girls a wink. “But on my way back, I noticed someone’s building a fence on the other side of the cornfields.”

Angie sat up straighter in her chair. “On the other side of the cornfields?”

Mr. Churnley nodded. “Mhm,” he replied, finishing his water.

“But we have no neighbors on that side!” Mrs. Churnley exclaimed. “Not for miles.”

Her husband rose to his feet. “Well, there’s a fence being built as we speak. I’m going to go see what’s up.”

Angie looked at me and Lauren, and I could tell what she was about to ask from the expression on her face. “Can we come with you?”

“‘Course you can,” Mr. Churnley replied, heading out the door.

We followed him, leaving Mrs. Churnley behind to finish her meal.

“Do you think…” Angie began as we walked across the yard toward the truck, a few steps behind Mr. Churnley.

“That the lumberjacks are building a fence?” Lauren finished, her dark brows raised.

Angie shrugged.

“This is all so weird,” I said.

We had yet to even lay eyes on these mythical lumberjacks, so before we mulled over the strange twist of events any further, that was the first step—find out if they actually existed.

We piled into the truck, and Mr. Churnley drove us down the track toward the forest. As the new fence came into view, my eyes widened. When Mr. Churnley had reported that a fence was being built, I’d figured perhaps a dozen feet or so would have been set up by now, given that there had been nothing standing there at all yesterday. Instead, I found myself staring at a fence that must have spanned at least a mile in circumference, cornering off a large enclosure of the forest.

“How on earth—” I paused as three tall figures came into view, surrounded by strips of wood. The men must have been at least six feet in height, and they… definitely matched Angie’s description. They were shirtless, the sun beating down on their bronzed skin, and held tools in their hands—a hammer and nails, while one of them held an axe aloft over his shoulder.

They went still, staring at us, as we trundled toward them.

Mr. Churnley sped up. “Hey, fellas!” he called out of his open window, the sound carrying clearly through the noiseless afternoon.

He pulled the truck to a stop a few feet in front of them, and as we all tumbled out of the vehicle, I laid eyes on the strangers—all apparently in their early twenties—properly for the first time.

The man holding the axe, who was also the tallest by about an inch, stole my attention first, and it took my brain a few moments to process his appearance. His eyes reminded me of winter, twin whirlpools of harsh steel and ice blue, while everything else about him screamed pool parties and picnics on the beach.

His sun-kissed skin had a radiant glow to it, and his hair was black, cropped close at the sides in an almost military style. He wore black pants that hugged him low around the waist, exposing a chest that was clearly the product of years of wielding axes. It belonged to a swimsuit model, a perfect canvas of sculpted pecs and abs… except for the scars that criss-crossed it, one even extending over his heart. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of terrible accident had caused those. His strong jawline also bore a scar.

I suddenly realized his gaze was on me and I had been gawking way too long. I quickly looked away, glancing toward his two companions. The man to his right was probably his brother. His hair was of the same color and style, and though his eyes were less steely and closer to sapphire, there were other marked similarities in the shape of their lips and broad facial structure.

The third man, the shortest of the three (though by no means short), had fairer features, with long blond hair tied back in a ponytail and pale brown eyes.

“Dang,” Lauren breathed, voicing my general thoughts appropriately.

It even seemed to take Mr. Churnley a minute to collect himself, his eyes bugging slightly as he eyed them, before he cleared his throat, seeming to remember what we’d all come here for.

“Good afternoon! I’m Geoffrey—Geoffrey Churnley—and I’m from the other side of the field, Elmcreek Farm. Are you our new neighbors?”

The taller man’s slate eyes rested on Mr. Churnley, and he nodded. “Not exactly, sir. We are here to work.” His low voice rumbled up from the depths of his chest, and it was… definitely not Texan. I couldn’t put my finger on what the accent was exactly. It was neutral and clear but had a slight foreign twang, almost British but… not. I wasn’t great at discerning accents anyway, given how little I’d traveled. Maybe he was an immigrant.

“Oh, I see,” Mr. Churnley replied. “And what sort of work are you doing here?”

“We’ve been hired to renovate the old farmhouse within this patch of woodland,” the man replied, his expression stoic and his eyes wandering casually to the fence. “We won’t be staying long.”

“Is the owner planning to move here, then?” Mr. Churnley asked.

The man shrugged, still avoiding direct eye contact. “We wouldn’t know, sir. We’re simply here to do a job.”

“Aha, naturally,” Mr. Churnley murmured, squinting in the sunlight as he took in the length of the fence. “You sure put this up quick.”

The man gave him a faint, perfunctory smile that told me he was quite done with the conversation. It seemed Mr. Churnley picked up on it too.

With the three of them working together, I guessed it was possible to put up a fence that fast—especially with a team as fit as this one. Not that I had any experience putting up fences…

“Well, thanks for your time,” Mr. Churnley said. “We’ll—”

“Um, one moment, if you don’t mind,” I interjected, not quite prepared to leave these guys yet. Mr. Churnley seemed to have forgotten what I considered to be the most important question.

I set my eyes on the taller man, who was now looking right at me. Focusing on my train of thought became suddenly way harder than it should have been. “I, uh—we had a break-in last night,” I explained, furrowing my brow and shifting my attention to the other two men. “Someone came in through the front door and… didn’t really take anything of value, but it was quite worrying. I guess this is a long shot, but I wondered if you’d seen anyone or anything out of the ordinary in the past day or two?”

I dared return my gaze to the taller man, and his dark brows drew together in a frown.

Then he shrugged, and responded with a single word: “No.”

“Right, okay.” I felt myself flush slightly, and exchanged a quick glance with Angie and Lauren, who looked like they didn’t know what to make of the situation. Which was basically how I felt.

I hadn’t been able to see much of the intruder last night, but the one impression I had been left with was that he was male and he was tall. How tall, I couldn’t pinpoint—it had all happened so fast—but it was probably stupid to suspect these guys. Millions of men fit that descriptor, and from the looks on these men’s faces, they really just wanted to get on with their work and get out of the heat. I couldn’t imagine why they’d bother to break into an old shack to steal a… wing.

Honestly, I was beginning to think we might just have to lay this whole incident to rest as some unexplained mystery in our lives. Something so bizarre that there probably was some funny and complicated explanation for it, but one we’d likely never unravel. As long as the guy didn’t come back, it really didn’t matter.

After spending more than half the night talking about it, I was kind of done with the subject anyway.

“Well, we’ll leave you to it,” Mr. Churnley said courteously, nodding and backing away toward the truck. “Good luck with the renovation, and if you need anything, give us a yell! Happy to help.”

“Thank you,” the tall man murmured. His eyes passed over me one last time before he turned his attention back to the fence, his two companions swiftly following suit.

Lauren, Angie, and I returned to the vehicle, and seated ourselves all in the back seat. Angie harrumphed as Mr. Churnley turned the car around and we began rolling in the opposite direction.

“Well, that was… interesting, I guess,” she said, her gaze taking on a dreamy quality as she stared out ahead through the windshield. “They sure were fine. Could any of you make out that accent?”

I shook my head, and so did Lauren. They hadn’t traveled that much abroad, either.

“You said you saw four guys yesterday, didn’t you?” Lauren asked, rubbing her forehead and looking befuddled.

“Yeah,” Angie replied. “I guess he must be in the enclosure somewhere.”

I heaved a sigh as the Churnleys’ farmhouse came into view, replaying the brief encounter we’d just had over in my head. The timing of everything was definitely odd—how the first break-in the Churnleys had ever had coincided with these workers arriving here, and—

I caught myself before I could venture further down that rabbit hole, reminding myself that it was pointless and would probably end up giving me a headache if I dwelled on it much longer.

It was all a coincidence, I simply reaffirmed to myself. Just an odd coincidence…